


Baldor's Path

by ShadowEtienne



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, History of Rohan, The Paths of the Dead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-26
Updated: 2016-11-26
Packaged: 2018-09-02 13:11:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8668843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowEtienne/pseuds/ShadowEtienne
Summary: In 2569, Baldor, eldest son of King Brego of the Mark, brashly vowed that he would ride the Paths of the Dead to see where they would lead.  He was never seen nor heard from again.  His younger brother, who would become King Aldor the Old, watched and dealt with these occurrences.





	1. A Brash Vow

 

The years of Brego, King of the Mark, had been long and peaceful, for he had driven the Easterlings from his domain over twenty years before.  On the great hill of Edoras in the middle of a rolling plain, he had begun the construction of his great hall and home.  At last, for all the years of planning, the hall of Meduseld was raised, and around it already flourished a small town.  Those who had ridden with the king, and those who had worked to build the great hall had settled themselves about its base, carpeting the entire hill with small houses and crafts-holdings.  There were most of all, many well appointed stables near the base of the hill, for it was steep enough to be hard for many horses at once to make the climb.  This was, of course, part of what had made the hill one of the best places possible to make his seat.

The town rang with the sounds of celebration for the completion of the great hall, with flags of green, the white horse emblazoned on them flying high above the town, and nowhere were those joyous sounds greater than in the great hall itself.  There, the king and his riders, and above all his three sons, feasted and sang.  Stories were told about the fire of great deeds, and much mead and beer was passed around.  Aldor, the second of the king’s sons, sat quietly for the most part, joining in with songs, but most of all listening.  His elder brother was in many ways his opposite.  Baldor stood in the center of many men, discussing feats of bravery and reenacting tales of great deeds with their flagons as they told tales of their fathers.

Their circle drifted nearer to where Aldor sat, and he heard his brother proclaim, “It is unfortunate indeed that there are no great feats of bravery to attach to our own names.  Perhaps our fathers were too successful, for there is nothing left for us to do.”

His friends echoed his sentiment with, “Aye,” and, “Of course,” and Baldor went on, “Perhaps we should make a goal of it, for each of us, heirs to our houses, to find some great act of bravery to perform, or else, the renown of our houses might begin to fall.”

Aldor sighed.  He had heard his brother speak like this before, as though he wished for another war, and he did not understand.  The peace that they had lived their entire remembered lives through had allowed their lands to prosper.  Food grew rich upon the plains of the Mark, and in contrast to the tales of the north, this was a kind place for them to live, good for their horses and for their people.  Aldor had only the faintest of memories of the fighting that had gone on when he was a very small child, and he knew that his brother, not too many years his senior, had only a few more.

One of Baldor’s inner circle said, “Perhaps the men of Gondor will have another war in which they need our aid, and we will ride to help them and bring glory on ourselves.”

Another replied, “I would not want to wait on them for our chance though.  There might yet be Dunlendings to fight in the west, or perhaps the Easterlings will come again, and we will need to defend our homes like our fathers before us.”

A small, quiet man, who Aldor did not remember seeing around his brother before, though he looked to be about the right age to be a part of the circle that swirled about his brother, spoke then, “There are yet some unknown paths within our lands, and there one might find some chance at bravery and renown.”

Aldor looked at this man carefully, pale of face and hair, with pointed features, there was nothing strange about him other than that Aldor could not place him.  Baldor seemed friendly enough to him, passing him another flagon of mead from the platter being circled, but Baldor loved attention and company.  The conversation drifted a bit, as more mead was drunk, but Aldor continued to watch the man he did not recognize.

After some time, his sister came to sit beside him by the fire.  Alwyn brought with her some of the meat being served over the great fire, and another flagon to replace the one that he had been nursing for some time.  She said to him quietly, “I see that you are not joining our brother in his flights of fancy.”

Aldor nodded, thanking her softly for the food, for he had quite forgotten that it was being passed around, and asked her, “Do you know who that friend of our brother’s is, the shorter one?”

Alwyn looked where he indicated and scrunched her nose a bit in thought.  She shook her head and replied, “He looks familiar, but I can’t place him.  He’s not one of Baldor’s normal lot, but he might be one of the captains of the riders from further out.  I do think that I’ve seen him before.”

Aldor remained thoughtful, sitting quietly beside his sister.  They both rode with the patrols of riders of the Mark as well, but neither of them commanded as large a troop as their elder brother, just enough to have the correct experience for the children of the king.  Alwyn was better with the sword than he, but he was better with horses, for he was more patient than her.  Throughout their childhood, Aldor had matched to his elder sister, and not to their elder brother, for they were only a year apart in age, while she was four years their brother’s junior.  Even so, they had both long been outshadowed by their brother, and Aldor took little interest in trying to be emulate his brash courage and loudness.

The conversation between Baldor and his friends circled around to the topic of earning their own glory again, and Aldor came to attention, focusing on the small man.  Baldor clapped him on the shoulder and said, “You speak of unknown paths in our own lands.  I would hear more of this my friend.”

The small man smiled and replied, “My father, the new Lord of Harrowdale, warns against the path into the mountains.  There is a gate of stones marking a path that leads into the Dimholt, and under the trees is a fearsome place.  But there is word from those that walked far enough, that there is a place beyond marked in a script that is more akin to that of Gondor than that of the Rogin who guard the mountain roads, that this path is the Path of the Dead.”

Baldor had a look on his face that Aldor knew meant that he had been drawn into the story, and more than that, that meant that a harebrained notion was starting to form in his mind.  He looked to his sister, and she had tightened her mouth into a thin line.  Aldor knew that there was no good chance at this point for him to intervene though, at least not without a sufficient distraction, which he certainly did not have.  Alwyn was beginning to stand, looking as though she had an attempt at distraction in mind, but before she could do anything, the son of the Lord of Harrowdale added, “All of them are too frightened to explore the path, for all that I would guess there are great riches beyond.  It is clearly meant to frighten people, and what better way to keep something safe than to never have to guard it to begin with.  I couldn’t go against the direct order of my father to stay out of the Paths, but someone should see where it leads.”

Baldor raised his flagon and said, voice loud enough to carry a fair ways, “Then on this great day of feasting and celebration, for my own honor, I vow that I will travel to the Paths of the Dead and discover what lies there for the glory of this house.”

Then, when Eofor, youngest of their siblings, brought the great horn to him, for toasting to the glory of Meduseld, he again, made his claim.  Their father looked on him with pride, and Aldor wondered that the King their father did not see the rashness in this decision.  Many looked on him then with pride and respect, for they too believed in the great honor and glory that he might bring to them, but Aldor saw the son of the Lord of Harrowdale near the back of the crowd, and he looked smug, as though he had gained some sort of victory.

He glanced to Alwyn again and caught her looking at the heir of Harrowdale as well.  She muttered to Aldor, “I don’t trust him.  This seems as though it will not go well for our dear brother, and though rashness is high among his traits, I would like to see him safe.”

Aldor sighed and told her, “Our father the king seems pleased with Baldor’s decision, or pleased enough, and there is naught that we can do to change it, for it has been sworn over the great horn for all to hear.”


	2. Baldor Rides Forth

In the spring, Baldor rode forth, with a great train of followers, for the White Mountains.  His siblings followed in his train, knowing that this was perhaps the last that they would see of their brother.  There was much clamor and festivity from the court as they made their camp in the long valley of Harrowdale, just far enough from the Dimholt to escape its uneasiness.

Aldor and Alwyn sat to one side of Baldor around the fire as a feast was made and served, and their father sat to his other side.  At his feet, their youngest brother, Eofor, sat, pestering Baldor with questions about his quest.  Aldor worried that his little brother would gain the same rashness that Baldor possessed, but there was nothing that he felt he could do to stop it.

The following morning dawned bright and clear, full of bird song and the scent of sweet white flowers that peppered the great fields.  From there, Baldor was to ride alone to his glorious path.  Eofor and Aldor were the ones to help him prepare for his ride, and at last, Aldor had a chance to be nearly alone with his brother.  Baldor was the first of the two of them to speak, “Little brother, you look as though you are worried.”

Aldor sighed and put his attention to fastening the buckles on Baldor’s gilt hauberk.  He replied, “I do not see the wisdom of this path, but it is far too late for me to dissuade you, and so I can only advise caution.  Watch for dangers and protect yourself my brother, and I will await your glad return.”

Baldor ruffled his hair like he was still a child and said, “You worry too much Aldor, like a man twice your age.”

Aldor frowned and replied, “Perhaps I simply worry enough for both of us.”

Baldor laughed at that, a large joyful noise that drew in others around him, and said, “If you say so little brother.  I will be careful for your sake, but there can only be so much care in the path for glory.  I will bring back glad tidings of what I have found soon enough though.”

Eofor finished the lower fastenings of Baldor’s armor, and ran to hand him his decorated helm, the helm of the son of kings, and Baldor took it from him with a great smile, ruffling their youngest brother’s hair as well.  He said, “You take care little Eofor, and train well and valiantly.  I expect you to give me a good bout when I return.”

Then more quietly, as Eofor ran back to their father and the gathering crowds, he turned back to Aldor and said, “You worry enough for both of us, so I entrust to you the care of my position while I am gone.  Use your worry for our lands, and take care with riding the patrols.  Father wants to see you once I ride out to discuss these things.”

Aldor nodded, swallowing the sudden lump that had formed in his throat.  Baldor laughed at him, more quietly this time, and said, “Don’t look so concerned little brother.  All will be well, but I shall be gone for some time if these paths are long and rich besides.  Who knows what I shall find along them.”

Aldor stood by his sister again as they all watched Baldor ride out, up the little winding mountain path that passed between two great stones into the frightening forest.  He took her hand and squeezed it, seeking reassurance that his worry was unfounded, but when he glanced to the side, he saw the same worry in her face.


	3. To the Paths of the Dead

Baldor felt the sudden weight of dread when he rode under the dark, rustling pine trees of the Dimholt.  He had heard that there was a strange fear associated with the place, but he had assumed that it was just that many people were more easily frightened by the stories of such things than he was.  He did not know what about the forest made it suddenly so daunting, but at last, he decided that it was the stillness.  The air under the trees was dry and still, and there was no hint of the wind that would make the trees rustle.  There was no sound of animals other than the all too quiet tread of his horse over pine needles.

Normally, Baldor would have started a song to distract himself from this ominous feeling, but he found that his voice seemed stuck in his throat.  He remembered the face of his little brother’s worry for a moment then, and wondered if he should turn back, but he had sworn twice, once over the great horn of his fathers, in the great hall that would go down to his children’s children, that he would see this quest out.  He did not want to disappoint Eofor either, for the young boy looked on him with great respect and devotion.  Most of all, he did not want to disappoint his father.  The king was proud of his capacity for great deeds, and to disappoint that would be unheard of.

He rode on, through what seemed like interminable dark, quiet woods.  He stopped for a brief rest, but he could not bring himself to stop for the night, or what he presumed was the night, when the light dimmed for a time.  It was the full moon though, he knew that even though he could not see it, and so there was no great difference between the light in the forest by day and night.

At last, he emerged onto a stony path, through a narrow gap in the face of the mountain.  There, the sound of his horse’s tread still seemed muffled, but nonetheless, he was concerned by the crunching that came from under her hooves.  When she became frightened enough that she reared, pawing at the air, Baldor dismounted, trying to lead her on.  A quest was, after all, much harder without a horse, and he did not know how much farther he had to go.

When he turned a corner in the path, and a sudden rush of dry air battered his face, she reared and pulled her reins from his hands, running away with the whites of her eyes clear to see before she rounded the corner again.  Baldor stood, uncertain of what to do for a moment, and then he turned back towards his path.  A hero was not thwarted by something so simple as the loss of his horse, and he had a goal.

He walked on again, and at last realized what the occasional crunching from under his horse’s feet had been:  old bones.  There were many of them, mostly animals, small and large, but occasionally, he saw human skeletons as well.  Perhaps this pass had well earned its name, but he would not turn back.  He had a quest, and he was honor bound to do his best to achieve it.

At last, after rounding another corner, he found a door.  Over it, in symbols that Baldor had no knowledge of, there seemed to be an ominous warning, but he would not be turned back.  A mere door was no heroes findings, and at last he seemed to be on to something.  A threatening door was a good sign that someone had hidden something there.

There was no obvious way to move the door, but at first, Baldor was not concerned.  He pushed against it first with his hands, and then with his shoulder.  At last, in frustration, he hurled himself against the door, and found himself sitting across from it, thrown rather further than he would have expected.  There was a strange feeling of fear that was growing in him again, and suddenly he felt that he needed to get the door open no matter what.

He scrambled over to the door, shard like stones beneath his hands leaving cuts, and pushed at it frantically, not daring to look behind him.  When he had been shoving to no avail for some time, he drew a deep breath and glanced over his shoulder.  There was nothing there, and yet, he felt watched and threatened.  He pulled his sword, waving it before him, and then heard a knocking from the stone behind him.  He whirled expecting that perhaps it had moved a bit, but still, nothing had changed.  In frustration, he whacked his sword against the door, and the ringing was echoed by the knocking sound again.

There was something in there.  His terror mounted, but he also could not stop himself from shoving and hitting the door with his sword, mindless of the small dents that had formed already in his sword.  As he grew tired and sank to his knees, the sun began to set, dimming the light in the narrow path even further, and in the dimming light, a strange haze seemed to emerge from the door, still closed tightly, and Baldor’s eyes dimmed, breathing becoming hard, until at last, he slipped into a strange, eternal nothingness.


	4. King Brego's Passing

It was Alwyn who found Baldor’s horse, running wild and frantic on north of the Dimholt, saddle turned to the side.  She and her patrol returned with the horse, still half frantic but beginning to calm.  Their father, King Brego, soothed the horse himself, and he reassured himself and his children that the horse showed no signs of injury or having thrown her master.  She had simply somehow gotten away.  Aldor knew horses though, and that sort of fear that he sensed in her made him worried that something far worse had befallen his brother.

He took to his duties well though, leading many riders, far more than he was used to.  They listened to his thoughtful commands, and there were fewer careless injuries under his command than his brother’s.  Aldor was not surprised, and yet he wished for all the world that his brother would come back to take his place as soon as possible.

The seasons turned from Spring to Summer, then from Summer to Autumn, and yet there was no sign of Baldor.  Before Aldor’s eyes, their father seemed to age with worry, looking far greater than his fifty-eight years, and Aldor began to doubt that his brother would return.  The pass into the mountains could only be so long, and there were many dangers that could befall him there.  Baldor had meant to be back before the first snows of the Winter, and when they rushed down from the mountains on the first winds of Winter, their father weakened and fell sick.

Aldor sat beside his father’s bed for long hours, most often joined by Alwyn, and at times a frightened and sad Eofor, and he listened.  King Brego conveyed his thoughts on their kingdom, on what needed to be done to keep it safe, and Aldor knew that their father believed in his heart that their brother was dead, though he had said nothing of it to the court.  There was a sense of foreboding among those who spent their time in the great hall of Meduseld though.  The King was dying, and his son had not returned.

Most days, it was Aldor, with Alwyn at his side, who sat in the hall of the king, listening to petitioners.  On one clear winter’s day, King Brego made his pained way from his rooms to the throne though.  Many people gathered in the hall to observe the court that day, hearing the King take petitions with his remaining sons and daughter at his sides.  When the time for the evening meal drew near, King Brego announced, voice frailer than it had been, but still strong enough to carry over the quiet, waiting crowd, “We have watched and waited for our eldest son to return, but we see now that there was great foolishness in his plan, and that the Paths of the Dead should well have been closed to all who might travel there.  Baldor has not returned, and we must assume that he will not; therefore, I name my second son, Aldor, to take my seat should I pass and Baldor has not returned.  The throne will not be kept in wait though, for an absent ruler is no ruler for my people, and if Aldor should ascend the throne, it shall be his for all his many years.”

Aldor was stunned by the thunderous applause that filled the great hall of Meduseld, and he looked over the hall from where he stood at his father’s shoulder.  He took a few deep breaths, and then knelt at his father’s feet and bowed his head, saying, “I shall do my best to live up to the great responsibility and honor that you have places on my shoulders.”

There was nothing more that he could say.  He had never wished to be king.  He had expected to long live in his brother’s shadow and help guide the minutiae of the kingdom for him as a steward and assistant.  Alwyn gripped his arm as he swayed when he stood and whispered fiercely in his ear, “You will be a good king.”

Their father died in his sleep that night, and Aldor went through the coronation in a sort of daze, still unable to believe that there seemed no chance that his bright brash brother would return to take this place.  He buried his father, and at the foot of his father’s mound, he made a smaller mound where he buried his brother’s saddle, knowing that it was all he had of his brother’s prized possessions, and there would be no chance of retrieving his brother.

He turned with resolve to the governing of the Mark and the Eorlingas.  He was yet unmarried, but he knew that in time he would need to find a wife, but for the beginning of his reign, it was his sister who stood by his side, helping him guide their realm.  He watched and listened and tried to find solutions that would best care for all of the people who came before him, and he was much respected for it.  He watched Eofor grow into a young man and marry before either he or Alwyn.  That, at last, was what made him believe that there was no chance that Baldor was returning.  He had grieved for Baldor with his father, but he grieved for him again after Eofor left Meduseld to Aldburg, the home of their father before the construction of Meduseld, and the new seat that Eofor took, the seat that had once been meant for Aldor.

The eldest son of the Lord of Harrowdale only returned once to the great hall of Meduseld after Aldor became king.  He brought with him a petition that Aldor consider his younger sister to be his wife, and when Aldor frowned down at him from the throne, and said, “I remember that you were the one who brought to my brother’s attention the existence of the Path which he will never return from.  I do not seek a wife from the same house that brought about my brother’s downfall.”

Several years later, when the old Lord of Harrowdale passed away, it was his second son that took his seat, and Aldor found this a most pleasing thing, for the new Lord of Harrowdale was a stern and cautious man a few years Aldor’s junior, who took his role as the protector of the pass and the Dimholt most seriously.

**Author's Note:**

> I am aware that Aldor's son, Frea, was meant to be born in the same year that Aldor was crowned king, but based on the way this story was working, I determined that it worked better to have him be a few years younger because it didn't make sense of Aldor to be married yet. If I continue these histories of Rohan that I've been thinking about, I will consider how to make that work, but considering how long Aldor lived (to 101 years of age), Frea would still have been old when he took the throne even if he was over a decade younger than he is listed to be in the text, so it would not effect the rest of the timeline.


End file.
